Working Half of a Broken Whole
by notevenalittlebit
Summary: "He wants to break; see destruction in his eyes, feel death's steel, familiar hands rip him apart, limb by bloody identical limb." - Ponderings on the loss of one's twin


He wasn't sure how long it had been; days, weeks, months?

The latter seemed the most probable, yet the twenty year old couldn't determine how long he had been wallowing in this veritable hell.

_Months_, he pondered.

He wasn't sure he'd managed months without speaking with his brother.  
>He didn't know how anyone in his family was keeping up with him.<p>

He was going mad, without him.

"Months?" He mused again, this time, aloud.

He didn't think months could feel this long.

He reckoned everyone had become sick of him; forced into returning to his childhood home for the time being, the young man knew the trouble he was causing for all those involved.

He wanted nothing more than to run to their once shared flat and drown himself in memories; the good and the bad.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, with Fred gone.

All he wanted was his brother back.

He knew he was being unfair to all those affected. Fred was their family too, but to him, it didn't matter.

He was his twin, the one whose dreams he shared; they shared everything.

As of late, he had slipped farther and farther away from who he was. He was slipping away from everything they had planned.

And he didn't care. He didn't care that he was throwing away everything they had built up; he didn't care he was destroying everything.

He couldn't count the numerous times his remaining siblings would confront him; is this what he would want, they ask. Well, he isn't here if they hadn't noticed; so George is left making these decisions.

"He'd want you to be happy. He'd want you to move on." They say. He feels like he dies more each time they remind him he's gone.

It was breaking him to know it was now only him. He is half of a whole without his twin.

They tell him it won't hurt as much as time passes; he's having a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. He hopes more than anything he'll forget it all and become that individual he always craved to be.

It's times like these when he hates himself.

He wants any and all thought to leave him, just go away. He doesn't want this life anymore.

He wants to break; see destruction in his eyes, feel death's steel, familiar hands rip him apart, limb by bloody identical limb.

He wants to fly away and never been seen again; he'd leave this world behind for the life he's lost.

He wants to float in a mess of his tears and not once utter the phrase 'self-pity.'

He wants to sleep and never wake up; he doesn't sleep much anymore.

Upon being granted a moments rest, someone will barge into his room with an inane task or chore; his mother's own way of making sure her now singular, middle son was okay.

He smiles a feigned smile; that was one thing that he never had to fake. It was different now without him, his smile, that is.

"George?" He turns to the too tired face of his mother. He's beginning to bear the same lines of worry and grief age has given her.

"I'm headed to the shop mum. I just want to check on some things." He mumbles as she nods, genuinely glad to see him up and about.

With a crack he arrives in a familiar flat, everything in place. An eerie feeling, he notes, as if all was still well.

It's a sinking feeling realizing it's not. And then it hits him.

Oh god, does it hit him.

He isn't here, no matter how hard he tries, or thinks, or wishes.

_Fred is gone._

The flat is silent with no humorous dialogue; the normal back and forth a distant memory lingering in the open room.

It's seems like it's all actually sinking in and he's scared.

It's the first time he's realized he's really alive, despite the dragging feeling that he'd died along with his brother.

It's the first time he's realized he will have to move on.

He's afraid of how long that will take; all alone, moving on in a world without a soul by his side.

He doesn't know if he can do this.

He doesn't think he can pick himself up from this mess; put himself back together again.

Regain some semblance of a life he once had.

He'll carry on for him; the working half of a broken whole.


End file.
